Right All Along
by Zil
Summary: Normalverse AU #5. Cecelia makes some realizations. Guest starring the ever temporal tempestuous Bishop.


AN:Not a series, but there is a sort of timeline in place. I'll put numbers before the stories so you know roughly where it's set.  
  
Same intro, different story.  
  
Before I get any 'what the heck?' reviews, please read the following notes:  
no wait! Don't run away  
  
Disclaim!  
  
I do not own Scott Summers. Ye gads, if I owned the man...well, anyway. Marvel owns him and lots of other cool things  
too.  
  
  
"As if anything in my life has ever happened that I can use as I guideline for normal...In so many ways the world has  
changed completely...and in other ways it hasn't changed at all."  
-Scott Summers, UXM #337.  
  
Okay, so I'm paraphrasing a little. The point is, the X-men lead these far-out fantastical lives. Now there's nothing wrong  
with that, it makes for interesting reading, but it also leaves me snorting and saying 'That'd never happen in real life.'   
  
So what would happen in real life? This 'Normal' series are my ideas.   
  
Some things have changed a lot; some things are the same.  
  
Yes, I've screwed with some of the ages to fit my twisted little mind. It's not a lot though, and I think it's for good  
purpose.  
  
Also, I've (hopefully) written them in such a way that though they are numbered, any one story should be readable on  
it's own.   
  
If you like this scenario go to www.geocities.com/BourbonStreet/Bayou/8406/ordinary/ordinary/ordinary.html   
for an archive of other writers idea of 'ordinary' X-Men.  
  
Thanks for reading! Kevin Spacey loves me! (I don't get it either...)  
  
!Zil!  
  
  
  
5.  
  
Right All Along  
  
Big thankee to evenstar  
Archive yes, but let me know where  
Marvel owns... a lot. I make no money from this  
Feedback please  
!  
  
'The road up and the road down is one and the same."  
-Heraclitus  
  
  
"We're not calling him that."  
  
"Why not? It's a good name. Strong. Was my Granpa's name."  
  
"Uh, Mr. and Mrs. King?" I step through the doorway but neither turn to look at me.  
  
"I don't care. You can't call a little baby that. He'll be teased at  
school. Can you see me standing on the front porch yelling that?" I lean  
against the door holding my clipboard to my chest. No need to interrupt  
them. Seems like they're having more fun then really fighting. They both  
still have the 'new baby' glow.  
  
"You want to call him Martin. Can you imagine the ribbings he's gonna get  
being Martin King? It's just a short step away from being Martin Luther  
King."  
  
"What's wrong with that?" the new mother sniffs looking down at the bundle  
of brown baby that contrasts sharply with the white of the hospital  
blanket. "It's a respectable name."  
  
"Yeah well I respect Richie Little too, but you don't see me wanting to  
name my son after him. He needs a name of his own."  
  
"So you want to name him after your Granpappy?"  
  
This is where I start shaking with silent laughter. I really should leave  
them alone before I insult them, but I have to give them these forms.  
  
"Lucinda." The man is very serious now. "This is very important to me." The  
woman quiets down too.  
  
"Names are important Will. That's why I want to name my first born daughter  
after my great aunt. If you agree to that, I'll agree to call our son  
whatever you want." The man turns to me now. Guess I'm not as invisible as  
I thought.  
  
"Shardenella. That's her aunt's name. Have you ever heard of anything so  
silly?" The woman opens her mouth. "Never mind. Okay, I'll agree. Here's  
hoping our son grows up strong enough to defend any little sisters who  
might come along."  
  
I have to grin at his fake solemnity. "I've just got a few forms for you  
two, I mean three, to fill out. Insurance, and so forth. And birth  
certificate. I take it you've agreed on a name?" They look at each other,  
and Lucinda smiles.  
  
"His name," she holds her new son a bit closer, "is Bishop."  
  
I leave them alone and walk down to the lounge and pour myself a coffee.  
They're so happy and in love. It's hard to believe that just yesterday I  
delivered their little boy in the back seat of a car. Bishop, I remind  
myself, and not so little. Eleven pounds. Mrs. King said if giving birth to  
babies can be equated with pushing out watermelons, she just won the County  
Fair. No arguments here. I lean my head on the hard wood backing of the  
chair. This is not easy work. I could go back. They'd give me my job back,  
no questions asked. But I didn't become a doctor to work in a boarding  
school. This is what I wanted; to be a surgeon. Saving lives everyday. When  
my Daddy bled to death in my arms I didn't want to go to med school and  
make a buck, I wanted to have the knowledge to save him. Let Xaivers go  
find another doc to patch up the brats, I'm here to make a difference. I  
hope.  
  
But I miss it there. I miss him. Stupid accent and all. I'm doing what I  
always dreamed of, I've become a hero. No matter what my life had been, I  
know that this is always what I would have wanted. So, why am I not appy? I  
push my hands into my braids, feeling the weight of them.  
  
If I had just left Xaivers it would be okay. But I ran away. Cecelia Reyes  
doesn't run away. From anything. But now I have. I don't want to go back,  
but things can't stay the way they are. Yes, I can survive on my own, but  
why should I? I don't have anything to prove to him, do I? I've always been  
loud, gutsy, willing to take on anything. That's the me I like. I don't  
like who I am now.  
  
Time to make a choice. I see little Bishop in my minds eye, and push the  
image firmly away. Don't make a decision based on sentiment. I stop that  
line of thought. This decision will have repercussions that are almost  
entirely sentimental, and mostly illogical. If anything, emotion should be a guiding factor. I finish my coffee slowly. I've cut back to one a day, as  
if I'd already made up my mind months ago. I'm alone in the lounge, just me, the coffee and the phone. Then the coffee's gone, and it's me and the phone. We stare at each other for a moment, then I go pick it up and dial hesitantly. One ring. Two.  
  
"Yes, this is Cecelia Reyes, I'd like to cancel my appointment. It was for tomorrow." Pause. "Yes, I'm aware of the policy after 20 weeks. I'm very sure this time, thank you."  
  
That was easy. I can feel the little butterflies of hope flitting around  
Inside me, along with little whomever, that will now be born in four or so months. Still one more call to make. This one's harder to do. We said things we shouldn't have. Or, I guess I said things I shouldn't have. I feel the helpless frustration rising in my bones. I need to be in control of my life. Things don't touch me. I'm a doctor, stuff doesn't affect me, and I can't let it. I still feel the hurt though. Hurt, either personal or for my patients slides through my shields like they weren't even there. It never really bothered me before, I liked feeling the pain, it reminded me I'm human. Everything's happening so fast lately, maybe it's time I learned to put the pain aside and use the detachment more to my advantage. I know the numbers by heart. He picks up after the first ring.  
  
"Hello, Sean? It's Celia. I have some interesting news for you sweetheart."  
  
At the sound of his laughter I know I should have done this a while ago.  



End file.
